3507 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


A  PLAY  IN  ONE  ACT 

I       by 


Essex   Dane 


THE  WASP 

WALTER  H.  BAKER  CO..  BOSTON 

Publishers 


Oh,  Kay! 


By  Adam  Applebud 

A  Farce  Comedy  in  Three  Acts  interlarded  with  mystery  and 
thrills.  6m.,  5w.  Three  of  the  male  characters  have  little  to  do. 
One  easy  interior.  Plays  a  full  evening.  Here  is  another  corking 
play  by  the  author  of  BE  AN  OPTIMIST  which  will  make  as  big 
a  hit  as  that  has.  It  will  be  fun  to  watch  it,  fun  to  act  it  and  fun 
to  rehearse  it.  It's  a  sort  of  mystery  play  with  something  doing 
every  minute  in  the  way  of  thrills,  surprises  and  laughs.  There 
are  not  any  dead  bodies  falling  out  of  closets  and  there  are  no  gorillas, 
bats,  spiders  or  other  repulsive  things  running  around  but  there's 
plenty  of  excitement  and  strange  things  happen  before  your  eyes. 
"Gramp"  with  his  fliwer  and  its  never  ending  accessories  and 
"Gram"  with  her  habit  of  trying  every  patent  medicine  on  the 
market  are  a  couple  of  comedy  roles  which  will  furnish  a  couple 
of  hundred  laughs.  Kay  Millis,  the  girl  detective,  is  a  strong  part 
calling  for  good  acting  while  Art  and  Edith  are  juvenile  parts  of 
much  appeal.  Then  there  are  other  good  parts  and  as  the  plot 
moves  all  are  enmeshed  in  the  "tangled  threads  of  mystery."  Oh, 
yes,  we  must  mention  the  Black  Terror  himself,  who  is  the  cause  of 
all  the  trouble.  Can  it  be  .  .  .  ?  Do  you  suppose  .  .  .  ?  He 
is  .  .  .  .?  But  the  secret  must  be  kept.  If  you  have  pleased 
audiences  before  you  will  certainly  retain  their  good  will  by  offering 
them  OH.  KAY! 

THE  PLAYERS 

Edith  Whitman. 

Evelyn  Whitman,  her  mother. 

Arthur  Whitman,  her  brother. 

Captain  George  Whitman,  her  father. 

"Gram."  Pembroke. 

Alice  Borden. 

The  "Black  Terror." 

"Gramp"  Pembroke. 

Jim  Hayes. 

Kay  Millis,  of  the  Millis  Detective  Agency. 

Fred  Alden. 

The  entire  action  of  the  play  takes  place  in  the  living-room  of 
the  Whitmans  in  the  course  of  one  evening. 
A  few  minutes  elapse  between  Acts  I  and  II. 
Acts  II  and  III  are  continuous. 

ROYALTY  ONLY  TEN  DOLLARS 

Each  Amateur  Performance 

Books    Thirty-Five  Cents  Each 


WALTER  H.  BAKER  COMPANY 

41    Winter  Street,  Boston,  Mass. 


THE  WASP 

A  Play  in  One  Act 


By 

ESSEX  DANE 

Author  of  "  Let  It  Go  At  That"  "  The  Other  Side  of  the  Door," 
" Happy  Returns,"  "  The  Veil  Lifts,"  "A   Toy  Tragedy" 
"  When  the  Whirlwind  Blows,"  "A  Serpent's  Tooth," 
"  Wrong    Numbers,"    "  Fleurette    and    Com 
pany,"    "  Cul-De-Sac,"    "The    Wooden 
Leg,"  "  Workers  At  the  Looms" 
etc. 


BOSTON 

WALTER  H.  BAKER  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


The  Wasp 


CHARACTERS 

GENERAL  PETER  GRETCHEFF. 
LIEUT.  SERGEITCH,  his  aide. 
MLLE.  IRMA  MELIPOFF. 

SCENE. — A  deserted  inn,  on  the  road  to  Finsk,  a 

village  in  N.  E.  Siberia. 
TIME. — Just  after  the  assassination  of  the  Czar. 


Copyright,  1921,  by  Essex  Dane. 


[42] 


?s 


RIGHTS  RESERVED 

"  THE  WASP  "  is  fully  protected  by  copyright,  and 
all  rights  are  reserved.  Permission  to  act,  read  pub 
licly  or  to  make  any  use  of  it  must  be  obtained  from 
WAITER  H.  BAKER  COMPANY,  41  Winter  Street,  Bos 
ton,  Mass. 

It  may  be  presented  by  amateurs  upon  payment  of 
a  royalty  of  five  dollars  ($5.00)  for  each  perform 
ance,  payable  to  WAITER  H.  BAKER  COMPANY  one 
week  before  the  date  when  the  play  is  given. 

Professional  rates  quoted  on  application. 

Whenever  the  play  is  produced,  the  following  no 
tice  must  appear  on  all  programs,  printing  and  ad 
vertising  for  the  play:  "Produced  by  special  ar 
rangement  with  the  WAI/TER  H.  BAKER  COMPANY,  of 
Boston,  Mass." 


THE  WASP 

from  the  open  door  of  the  kitchen,  n.  u.  E. 
After  a  few  seconds,  the  handle  of  the  door, 
R.  c.,  is  rattled  slightly,  then  silence.  In  a 
moment  it  is  again  turned  audibly,  then  the 
door  is  slowly  opened  about  an  inch,  where  it 
remains.  A  pause.  Then,  very  slowly,  the 
door  opens  to  about  six  inches,  and  stops.  A 
hand  comes  in  sight.  It  remains  stationary. 
Then  the  hand  creeps  round  the  edge  of  the 
door.  After  another  pause,  in  the  small  open 
slit  of  the  doorway,  the  figure  and  face  of  a 
man  appear,  topped  by  the  heavy  Hussian  fur 
cap.  He  remains  motionless  a  moment,  then, 
still  cautiously,  the  door  slides  open  just  wide 
enough  to  admit  of  the  man's  being  able  to 
glance  round  the  side  of  the  room  disclosed  by 
the  narrow  opening  of  the  door.  His  eyes 
move  from  side  to  side  as  if  searching  for  some 
thing.  Then  he  opens  the  door  wider.  After 
a  swift  glance  of  examination  of  the  entire 
room,  seeing  all  is  clear,  he  comes  in,  shuts  the 
door,  gives  a  little  sigh  of  relief,  notices  cur 
tains  at  window  are  open,  and  goes  orer  to 
close  them.  There  is  a  sudden  noise  from  the 
kitchen,  R.  u.  E.  He  starts  nervously,  and 
calls  out.) 

GENERAL  (staccato).     Who's  there? 
MAN'S  VOICE.      It's  I,  General. 

(Reassured,  the  GENERAL  turns  back  to  window, 
and  closes  the  curtains.  He  comes  down  into 
the  room.  He  is  a  distinguished-looking  man 
with  gray  hair,  anywhere  between  fifty  and 

[44] 


THE  WASP 

sixty.  He  is  evidently  a  "  personage."  He  is 
dressed  in  military  clothes.  He  takes  off  his 
greatcoat  and  fur  cap  and  throws  them  on  a 
chair.  LIEUT.  SERGEITCH  enters  from  the 
kitchen,  carrying  a  valise,  which  he  sets  on  the 
small  table  above  the  stove.) 

LIEUTENANT.  I'll  have  things  ship-shape  in  a 
moment.  Your  Excellency  is  surely  safe  here. 

GEN.     Yes. 

LIEUT,  (taking  various  things  from  the  valise  and 
disposing  them  as  he  talks).  This  is  the  inn  they 
spoke  of — belonging  to  a  fellow  who  was  killed  in  the 
fighting  yesterday. 

GEN.     The  place  is  empty? 

LIEUT.  Bare  of  everj^thing,  and  poor  as  the 
twelve  disciples.  The  ashes  in  the  stove  were  warm, 
and  I  found  wood.  (Significantly.)  You've  heard, 
General  ? 

GEN.     I've  heard. 

LIEUT.  Lieutenant  Sobreff  told  me,  before  he 
rode  off  to  Litzk,  in  search  of  rations. 

GEN.  And  he  overheard  it  at  the  railway,  from 
the  telegraph  operator.  He  listened  to  the  tick  of 
the  code. 

LIEUT.     It's  terrible! 

GEN.     Terrible  for  me,  for  us. 

LIEUT.  We're  off  the  main  road  here.  It's  a 
good  hiding-place !  If  we  only  had  fifteen  or  twenty 
men,  we  could  risk  the  journey;  but  without 
them  — 

GEN.  Sobreff  may  pick  up  some  of  our  scattered 
men  at  Litzk.  Did  he  telephone  you? 

[45] 


THE  WASP 

LIEUT.  Bad  news,  Excellency!  He  had  arrived 
there  and  had  sent  off  your  despatches,  but  had 
been  unable  to  get  food  supplies.  The  town  was  in 
an  uproar. 

GEN.     What  time  was  it  when  he  telephoned? 

LIEUT.     Four,  and  it's  now  9:  30.     (A  pause.) 

GEN.  If  they  got  him,  it  can't  make  any  differ 
ence.  They  can't  make  head  or  tail  of  our  cipher. 
(He  goes  to  window,  and  looks  ^through  the  cur 
tains.)  Eternal  snow  of  Siberia!  Wonder  what's 
happened  to  him!  The  news  of  the  Czar's  death 
can't  be  publicly  known  yet! 

LIEUT.  Lieutenant  Sobreff  may  have  met  with 
an  accident. 

GEN.  You'd  better  take  my  horse  and  cover  the 
ground  yourself. 

LIEUT.  Pardon,  Excellency;  it's  not  as  if  there 
were  anyone  to  leave  in  charge  — 

GEN.     Pm  here! 

LIEUT.      Exactly.     You're  here  alone. 

GEN.      Isn't  that  enough? 

LIEUT.  No,  General.  Not  at  this  moment ! 
Pardon  me,  Excellency,  I  don't  intend  to  take  any 
chances. 

GEN.     Eh? 

LIEUT.  To-day,  plain  murder  will  be  called 
"  justice  of  God."  The  Anarchists  don't  forget 
your  two  years  as  Minister  of  Police. 

GEN.  (with  a  grim  chuckle).  We  smoked  the 
wasps  out ! 

LIEUT.  Russia's  full  of  wasps.  You're  one  of 
the  first  they'd  strike  at. 

GEN.      Strange!      I'm     living,     after     years     of 

[46] 


THE  WASP 

threats,  while  "  The  Little  Father  of  His  People  " 
lies  to-night  in  some  nameless  "  cachotte." 

LIEUT.     It's  the  Wasps'  hour. 

GEX.  All  the  more  reason  you  should  pick  up 
some  of  our  men.  I'm  safer  in  this  dog-hole  than 
in  any  of  the  Imperial  palaces,  to-night ! 

LIEUT.     But  at  daylight,  Excellency  — 

GEN.  (striking  his  fist  on  the  table).  No!  I 
don't  intend  that  poor  devil,  Sobreff,  shall  be  left  to 
mob-mercies,  or  lie  somewhere  on  the  road,  to  be 
eaten  by  wolves. 

(He  takes  out  a  revolver  from  his  R.  pocket  and 
lays  it  down  on  the  table  by  which  he  is  stand 
ing.) 

LIEUT.     I  beg  you  to  consider 

GEN.  (pointing  to  door).  Lieutenant.  (LIEUT. 
SERGEITCH  salutes.  The  GENERAL  sits.)  Before 
you  go,  be  a  good  fellow,  and  help  me  off  with  these. 
(He  points  to  his  heavy  riding-boots.)  I'm  dog- 
tired.  (The  LIEUTENANT  does  so,  substituting  some 
old  slippers  which  he  took  from  the  valise.)  Six 
teen  hours  in  the  saddle,  at  my  age.  (He  gives  a 
sigh  of  satisfaction,  and  picks  up  a  worn  little  vol 
ume  SERGEITCH  has  laid  on  the  table,  and  looks  af 
fectionately  at  it.  The  LIEUTENANT  goes  to  door. 
GENERAL,  with  a  sudden  thought.)  Wait.  (Takes 
out  his  watch.)  Ride  as  far  as  the  telegraph  sta 
tion  first.  Possibly  you  can  pick  up  something  or 
somebody  over  the  wires.  If  you  do,  get  them  to 
help  you  search  the  roads.  (Puts  his  watch  away.) 
That'll  do. 

LIEUT.     Under  protest,  Excellency! 

[47] 


THE  WASP 

GEN.  Under  protest,  Lieutenant.  I'm  a  full- 
grown  boy,  and  don't  need  a  wet-nurse!  (As  the 
LIEUTENANT  opens  the  door.)  You  needn't  delay 
unnecessarily. 

LIEUT.  No,  Excellency.  It's  a  three  hours'  job, 
but  I'll  ride  like  the  devil. 

(He  salutes  and  goes  out.  The  GENERAL  goes  to 
the  door,  and  fastens  it  after  him.  It  has  an 
old-fashioned  wooden  bar,  which  he  drops  into 
place.  He  then  looks  round  the  room,  sees 
door  is  open  leading  to  kitchen,  crosses  and 
closes  it.  Then  he  goes  over  to  the  samovar. 
He  is  about  to  pour  out  some  tea  ichcn  there  is 
a  faint  sound  of  horses'  hoofs,  which  recede  in 
the  distance.  He  puts  down  cup  absently,  and 
crosses  to  stove.  He  looks  up  and  gazes  at 
the  portrait  of  the  Czar.  Then  he  pulls  from 
his  pocket  a  crumpled  telegram,  and  reads 
aloud. ) 

GEN.  "At  11:30  last  night,  the  Czar  Nicholas 
was  killed  by  his  guards.  Leaders  swear  other  as 
sassinations  shall  follow."  (He  looks  at  the  Czar's 
face,  glances  furtively  round  the  room,  over  his 
shoulders,  then,  quietly  turns  the  face  of  the  picture 
to  the  wall.  He  takes  up  his  revolver  from  the 
small  table  and  puts  it  in  his  pocke,t.  As  he  does 
so  he  sees  the  little  worn  volume  lying  on  the  table; 
he  picks  it  up  lovingly,  and  walks  over  to  table, 
L.  c.,  fingering  the  leaves.  As  he  walks,  the  kitchen 
door  slowly  swings  wide  open.  He  turns  up  the 
flame  of  the  lamp  that  hangs  over  table,  hardly  tak- 

[48] 


THE  WASP 

ing  his  eyes  off  the  booh.  Then  gets  out  his  ciga 
rette  case,  lights  one,  and  lays  case  and  matches 
down  on  upper  end  of  table.  As  he  does  it,  his  eyes 
come  in  line  zcith  the  wide-open  kitchen  door.  He 
stops  dead,  his  mouth  open,  and  stares  at  ,the  door. 
For  a  second  he  keeps  his  position,  then  he  rises, 
nervously.)  I  thought  I  shut  that  door!  (He 
goes  toward  door.  Half-way,  he  stops,  stands  look 
ing  toward  it,  thinking.)  I  did  shut  that  door. 
(Quickly  he  takes  out  revolver,  and  goes  over  to 
door,  stepping  softly.  He  goes  off  into  kitchen. 
The  bright  light  from  the  kitchen  sends  his  shadow, 
sharply  defined,  behind  him,  on  the  floor  of  the 
room,  although  he  is  out  of  sight.  He  calls 
sharply.)  Who's  there?  (He  waits;  no  answer; 
he  comes  back  into  room.)  Queer!  (He  then  ex 
amines  the  latch  of  the  kitchen  door,  closes  door, 
and  watches  it.  Nothing  happens.  Then  he 
stamps  once  or  twice  on  the  flooring,  when  the  door 
slowly  swings  open,  as  before.  The  GENERAL  gives 
a  relieved  grunt.)  H'm!  That's  all.  Defective 
latch.  (He  closes  door,  puts  his  revolver  back  in 
his  pocket,  then  wipes  his  forehead  with  his  handker 
chief.  He  crosses  to  the  stove,  glances  up  at  the 
picture  with  its  face  to  the  wall,  and  says.)  Won 
der  what  the  brutes  have  done  with  him— "  it  "/ 
(He  shivers  slightly.  As  he  returns  to  table,  L.  c., 
there  is  a  sound  of  sleigh-bells  a  long  distance  away. 
Stops  and  listens.)  There's  a  sleigh  somewhere  out 
on  the  road.  (He  picks  up  his  book  and  stands  lis 
tening  to  the  bells.)  Wind's  in  the  direction  of 
Finsk.  (He  tries  to  read,  one  hand  in  his  revolver 
pocket,  but  his  mind  is  evidently  not  on  his  book  as 

I  49] 


THE  WASP 

before.      He    looks    up    with    a    start,    and    says 
abruptly.}      Those  bells  are  coming  nearer. 

(He  stands,  listening  intently,  a  nervous,  haunted 
look,  peculiar  to  him,  on  his  face.  The  irregu 
lar  sound  of  the  bells  comes  nearer,  then  stops 
with  a  jangle.  He  waits,  tcnsclij.  After  a 
second  there  is  a  knocking  on  the  outer  door  — 
not  loud,  but  insistent.  He  does  not  move. 
The  knocking  is  repeated.  He  goes  to  window 
and  tries  to  peer  between  the  curtains.  Then, 
revolver  in  hand,  he  goes  to  door,  u.  c.,  which 
he  opens.  Another  knock  on  the  door  beyond, 
then  a  clear  alto  voice,  indeterminately  sexless, 
rings  out.) 

i  \\Koolr\ji 

VOICE  (off  stage)^  *  Ml»rfufk  !  Who  lives  here? 
(The  GENERAL  glances  round  the  room  swiftly,  as 
if  numbering  the  possibilities  in  case  of  attack.) 
-  hrts-to.  Open  vm;r  (i;x>r! 


(He  stands  irresolute,  then,  with  a  sudden  effort 
of  will,  he  takes  the  bar  off  the  door  and  opens 
it,  his  revolver  ready.  A  figure  in  a  long  coat 
stands  outside,  muffled  to  the  ears.  It  wears  a 
fur  cap.) 

^--  <-?-*-»  wuu-     i  «\     - 

GENT.  (sharpli/Y?     Your  name,  and  business! 
VOICE.     An  officer  !     Oh,  what  a  relief  ! 
GEN.   (starting).     A  woman!      (Sharply,  as  be 
fore.)      Where    are    the    others?     Who    are    you? 
What's  your  business? 

MEIJPOFF.     There's  no  one  else.      I'm  alone. 
GEN.     Your  name? 

[50] 


THE  WASP 

MEL.     Irma  Melipoff  —  travelling  from  Litova. 

GEN.     Show  jour  papers. 

MEL.  (helplessly).  Papers?  I'm  running  away! 
They're  rioting  at  Litova. 

GEN.     Rioting? 

MEL.  It  broke  out  when  the  news  of  the  Czar's 
death  arrived.  They're  killing  people  in  the  streets. 

GEN.  (half  to  himself).     Already! 

MEL.  Didn't  you  hear  the  bells  of  my  droshky? 
I  was  afraid.  I  didn't  know  what  people  might  live 
here. 

GEN.  (looks  at  her  suspiciously).  What  were 
you  doing  at  Litova? 

MEL.  My  father  was  a  grain  merchant.  He 
died  last  month.  I've  been  living  there  alone.  I'm 
taking  refuge  with  relatives  at  Litzk. 

GEN.  (indicating  with  his  head).     Your  driver? 

MEL.  I  drove  myself.  I  had  to.  They're 
shooting  down  women  and  children,  ioo.ff^ 

doar-jmftt-s  as   if  faint,   and 


looks  at  him  helplessly.) 
GEN.  (shortly).     Corne  in. 

(He  watches  hcr-as&ke  moves  a  ute^p  or  two-into 
room?) 


MEL.   (in  a  tone  of  relief).      Thank  you.      (The 
.?  a  swift  look  up  and  dow-n,-  outside, 
bars  -door.        1  found   a  droshky. 


The  driver  had  fallen  off  his  seat,  shot  dead,  and  I 
made  my  escape.  I  thought  I  knew  the  road.  I 
saw  this  place.  I  fancied  there  was  a  gleam  of  red 


THE  WASP 

from  the  chimney.     I  took  a  chance.      I'd  no  idea 
where  I  was  — 

GEN.  (grimly).  No  woman  has  a  bump  of  loca 
tion. 

MEL.  Oil,  it's  a  relief  to  find  a  human  being,  in 
stead  of  stupid  peasants! 

GEN.     Are  all  peasants  stupid? 

MEL.  Yes,  fools,  or  brutes.  ^(She  has  taken  off 
her  cloak  and  thrown  it  on  chair.  She  is  wcll- 
dressed  in  travelling  suit,  with  handsome  furs,  a 
stole,  -which  she  throws  off,  but  retains  her  big  muff, 
which  is  slung  by  a  cord  over  her  shoulders.  A 
woman  of  strong  personality,  but  not  devoid  of 
charm.J\'  My  hands  are  frozen. 
f 

(She  thrusts  them  in  her  muff.) 

GEN.  (indicating).  Warm  yourself.  (She  goes 
over  to  stove,  and  kneels  in  front  of  it.  GENERAL 
jerks  his  head  towards  door.)  What  about  the 
droshky ? 

MEL.  I  fastened  it.  I'm  used  to  horses.  I  had 
to  drive  myself.  (Warming  her  hands.)  What 
times !  What  terrible  times ! 

GEN.  (thinking  his  own  line  of  thoughts).  Who 
brought  the  news? 

MEL.  (looking  round).  Of  the  assassination  of 
the  Czar? 

GEN.  Who  brought  the  news  to,  what  is  it, 
Litova? 

MEL.      I  think  it  was  the  soldiers. 

GEN.  (turning  sharply).  Soldiers?  What  sol 
diers? 

[52] 


THE  WASP 

MEL.     A  few  who  rode  in  last  night. 

GEN.     Ah! 

MEL.  At  first,  the  people  were  awed  and  fright 
ened.  Then,  the  bolder  spirits,  the  socialist  ele 
ment,  found  their  voices  and  told  the  people  the 
reign  of  tyrants  was  over.  (Looking  up.)  Do 
you  believe  that  ? 

GEN.  (dryly).  Depends  whom  you  call  the 
tyrants. 

MEL.  They  shouted  "  Freedom  had  come ! " 
They'd  only  to  reach  out  their  hands  and  take  it. 

GEN.     I  know  the  stuff,  the  blackguards ! 

MEL.  That  was  the  beginning.  Quarrels 
started.  They  sprang  up,  like  little  fires,  every 
where,  at  once.  The  soldiers  sided  with  the  peas 
ants  ;  there  were  shots.  A  lieutenant  tried  to  stop 
them,  and  they,  they  — 

GEN.  (excited).  Who  was  he?  Do  you  know 
the  lieutenant's  name? 

MEL.  There  was  no  time  to  learn  his  name.  He 
was  dead,  quite  dead,  when  they'd — done  -with  him. 

{She  sluvers.) 

GEN.     The  beasts! 

MEL.  Yes,  beasts,  that's  the  name  for  them, 
isn't  it !  That's  what  they've  been  taught  they  are. 
Why  blame  them  for  realizing  it?  Holy  Russia! 
(She  laughs  a  little  bitter  laugh.  She  rises  and 
goes  to  table  L.  c.)  There's  no  heat  in  that  stove. 

GEN.  (going  to  table  R.).  There's  tea  in  the 
samovar.  Sorry  there  is  no  food.  My  aide  has 
ridden  over  to  Litzk  for  what  he  can  get.  He'll 

[53] 


THE  WASP 

be  back,  God  knows  when!  (Busy  at  samovar.) 
By  midnight,  or  perhaps,  never.  You  can't  tell, 
in  these  days. 

(She  looks  across  at  him,  sitting  with  her  hands 
in  her  muff.) 

MEL.  It's  strange,  to  find  a  man  like  you,  alone, 
in  this  queer  hole ! 

GEN.  Nothing's  strange,  in  Russia,  to-day. 
(He  brings  tea  over  to  her,  handing  it  to  her  with 
his  left  hand.)  You  said  your  name  was  Melipoff? 

MEL.     Yes.     Irma  Melipoff. 

M 

\  \C  \  -— 

(The  GENERAL  crosses  back  of  table,  hands  in 
pockets,  looking  down  at  her.) 

GEN.  There  was  a  celebrated  violinist  of  that 
name,  years  ago. 

MEL.  (sipping  her  tea).     Yes? 

GEN.  Imperial  Court  violinist,  she  was,  for  some 
years.  Not  by  any  chance,  (He  looks  keenly  at 
her.)  no  relation  I  suppose? 

MEL.      I  never  saw  her.     (A  tiny  pause.) 

GEN.  If  you  had  seen  her,  you'd  have  seen  some 
thing  that  surprised  you.  You're  rather  like  her. 

MEL.     Yes?     (Sipping  her  tea.) 

GEN.     That's  what  made  me  ask. 

Jf*^ 

(He  lias  played  this  scene  with  his  hand  m  hid 

/•<  T'o/rrr  fHH'krt.  i/rubablif  front  habit.  She 
glqncrx  at  Jiis  Inind,  tlicn  iwr  tea-stirfer  drays 
to  the  floor.  The  GENERAL  stoops  and  hands 

[54] 


THE  WASP 

it  to  her,  without  removing  his  hand  from  his  a. 
pocket.) 

tJ 

MEL.  (taking  it)"  ,  Thanks.  Are  you  left- 
handed? 

GEN.     No.     Why? 

MEL.     You  picked  that  up  with  your  left  hand. 

GEN.  Oh,  yes.  I'm  so  accustomed  to  keep  my 
hand  on,  in  my  pocket,  force  of  habit.  That's  all. 
(He  looks  at  her.)  Yes,  you're  certainly  like  her, 
especially  the  profile. 

MEL.  The  likeness  is  only  skin  deep.  There's 
no  affinity  between  me  and  any  Court  parasite. 

GEN.  Oh  ho!  You  have  decided  views.  I'm 
afraid  you're  not  a  loyalist. 

MEL.  (disdainfully).     I'm  not  an  Imperialist. 

GEN.  So  the  poison  has  infected  your  little 
home  town,  eh?  Do  the  ladies  of  Litova  talk 
politics? 

MEL.  Who  doesn't,  these  days?  (Sets  down 
cup.)  T-kat'a  wai'inett" me !  You  asked  my  name; 
you  haven't  told  me  your  own. 

GEN.     A  name  means  nothing. 

MEL.     Oh,  we  see  the  journals  in  Litova. 

GEN.  (starting).     Eh? 

MEL.  (coolly).  And  you're  remarkably  like  a 
face  I've  seen  in  the  journals,  I  can't  think  whose. 

GEN.  (flattered).    The  devil! 

MEL.  I  wonder  how  you  come  to  be  here. 
(Looks  at  his  uniform.)  I  think  you're  a  person  of 
importance. 

GEN.     You  flatter  me. 

MEL.     One  can  alwavs  tell.      There's  a — some- 

f  55  ] 


THE  WASP 

thing.  Alone,  in  a  queer  deserted  inn,  with  not  a 
living  soul !  It  almost  looks  as  if  you  were  — 

GEN.     Yes? 

MEL.     Hiding.     Running  away,  too,  like  me. 

GEN.     Oh,  come! 

MEL.  It  wouldn't  be  surprising,  seeing  what's 
happened.  You  militarists  must  be  shaking  in  your 
shoes. 

GEN.  It's  best  not  to  question  anyone,  in  days 
like  these.  Now  you,  you  drift  in  here  with  a  story, 
I  accepted  your  story  — 

(She  darts  a  little  sicift  look  at  him.) 

MEL.  You  have  given  me  none  to  doubt.  Not 
even  a  name!  (She  looks  at  him,  and  waits.) 

GEN.  (chuckles).     Your  interest  flatters  me. 

MEL.  (her  eyes  on  him).  You  evidently  have 
good  reason  for  saving  nothing.  I  wonder  what  it 
is! 

GEN.     Guess  anything  you  like. 

MEL.  You're  an  officer  of  high  rank,  ip#-0£ -vait. 
Officers  of  high  rank  don't  travel  alone.  You're 
anxious  not  to  be  discovered  here.  The  windows 
are  barred,  and  curtains  drawn.  When  you  opened 
the  door,  there  was  a  look  of,  oh,  not  fear;  you're 
not  the  man  to  show  fear,  but  a  sort  of  haunted 
look,  a  premonition. 

GEN.  You  think  fast !  Are  all  the  ladies  of 
Litova  like  you? 

MEL.  It  was  no  news  to  you,  when  I  spoke  of 
the  assassination  of  him.  That  occurred  last  night ; 
therefore,  you  have  not  been  here  long. 

GEN.      I  take  off  rnv  hat  to  the  ladies  of  Litova! 

[56] 


THE  WASP 

MEL.  The  news  has  affected  jour  nerves. 
That's  why  you  can't  bear  the  sight  of  that  picture 
you  turned  to  the  wall.  (Nodding  towards  it  •with 
her  head.)  It  is  the  face  of  the  victim  of  the  assas 
sination  that  has  shaken  all  Russia.  (The  GEN 
ERAL  starts,  and  looks  from  her  to  the  picture.) 
Oh,  there's  nothing  wonderful  in  that.  In  every 
peasant's  house,  in  these  parts,  there  is  a  portrait 
of  the  Czar — and  in  every  house  that  portrait  hangs 
over  the  stove. 

GEN.     Go  on. 

MEL.  You've  been  saying  to  yourself  "  Others 
will  follow.  When  will  it  be  my  turn?  " 

GEN.  The  terrible  thing  that  happened  last 
night  is  the  beginning  of  God  knows  what  chaos! 

MEL.  (under  her  breath).    God  pity  Russia! 

GEN.  God  pity  her,  indeed!  Whatever  she  has 
suffered  under  Imperialist  rule  is  nothing  to  what 
is  coming  to  her  from  her  own  blind  hands ! 

MEL.  Ah,  you've  begun  to  think,  haven't  you ! 
You  who  didn't  know  there  was  such  a  thing  as  fear, 
you're  afraid.  For  the  first  time  in  your  life,  you're 
afraid,  eh? 

GEN.  I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  my  dear 
lad}'.  But  a  man  who  has  lived  as  I  have,  who  has 
eaten,  drunk,  slept,  in  the  very  shadow  of  Death, 
for  years,  loses  the  sensation  at  last.  Fear?  Why, 
I've  been  married  to  Fear.  She's  the  only  wife  I've 
had.  I've  been  married  to  her  so  many  years,  she 
can  no  longer  give  me  a  thrill ! 

MEL.     What  have  you  lived  in  fear  of? 

GEN.  (gravely,  after  a  brief  pause).  Assassina 
tion  !  Death  from  a  blue  sky.  A  hand,  coming  out 

[57] 


THE  WASP 

of  nowhere — and  stabbing,  suddenly,  in  the  back. 
An  explosion,  an  agony,  and — Eternity! 

MEL.  Your  conscience  must  be  very  guilty  to 
incur  hatred  like  that ! 

GEN.      Nothing  worse  than  that  I  have  had  power 
to  punish  crime,  and  used  it.     I've  lived  for  years 
under  threat  of  murder.     I've  felt  its  breath  on  my 
neck,   and   been   afraid   to   turn   my   head 
lest  I  should  see — should  see  —  (His  voice  has 

dropped  almost  to  a  whisper,  and  he  has  spoken  as 
if  to  himself.  Now,  he  remembers  her  presence 
again,  and  continues,  conversationally.)  I've  been 
menaced,  and  escaped  so  often,  that  I've  conic  to 
think  there  must  be  a  reason  for  my  luck. 

MEL.  (absorbed,  leaning  towards  him).  What 
reason? 

GEN.  Well,  ever3rone  has  to  own  to  some  super 
stition  

MEL.     Especially  soldiers. 

GEN.  And  when  a  certain  thing  saves  your  life 
again  and  again  — 

MEL.  It's  a  "  mascot,"  bicn  entcndu!  Have  you 
such  a  thing? 

GEN.  (gravely,  his  hand  on  his  breast).  I  be 
lieve  I  have.  (Then,  lightly.)  I'm  going  to  fool 
them,  by  dying  in  my  bed.  After  all  those  impre 
cations  and  warnings,  I'm  still  alive,  to  talk  to  a 
charming  lady,  who,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me,  might 
have  died  in  a  snowdrift.  Let  me  get  you  some 
fresh  tea. 

MEL.     Thanks.     Won't  you  join  me? 

GEN.     Yes. 

MEL.      It  must  be  getting  late!    I  ought  to  start. 

[58] 


THE  WASP 

What  time  did  you  say  your  lieutenant  would  be 
here  ? 

GEN.  I  don't  think  it's  possible  before  midnight. 
Better  accept  a  rough  shake-down  up-stairs,  and  he, 
or  I,  will  put  you  on  your  way  by  daylight. 

MEL.  Thanks.  I'll  take  your  hospitality. 
Drink  a  toast  with  me,  and  I'll  go  up-stairs  and  find 
quarters  for  the  night.  (She  raises  her  cup.  She 
i<i  sitting,  and  he  is  standing.  She  looks  at  him,  as 
he  raises  his  cup.)  To  the  unknown  officer,  who  has 
married  a  wife — named  "  Fear."  (As  he  drinks,  she 
puts  her  own  cup  down,  untouched,  and  puts  her 
hands  in  her  muff,  and  draws  the  end  back  noise 
lessly,  her  arm  steadied  on  the  table.  As  he  lowers 
the  cup  from  his  face,  he  is  confronted  with  the 
glittering  barrel  of  a  small  revolver,  which  is  point 
ing  straight  at  his  heart.  There  is  a  silence. 
Neither  moves.)  That  is  the  last  cup  you  will  ever 
drink  from,  General  Gretcheff.  (She  speaks  slowly, 
and  punctuates  each  of  her  words  very  slightly.') 
Don't  stir,  don't  move,  or  you're  a  dead  man.  Keep 
your  eyes  on  me.  A  sudden  start,  the  least  move 
ment  of  your  hands,  and  I'll  fire,  to  kill.  (They 
look  at  each  other.)  We've  got  you,  General  Gret 
cheff.  We've  got  you — at  last !  " 

GEN.  (his  cup  still  in  his  hands,  stands  rigid, 
petrified,  without  moving  a  muscle).  So  that's  who 
you  are!  And  that's  what  you  were  after. 

(During  all  that  follows,  whatever  she  says,  or 
does,  she  is  always  clear-headed,  and  covering 
him  with  the  weapon  ready  -for  his  least  at 
tempt.) 

[59] 


THE  WASP 

MEL.  Yes,  General,  fooled  by  a  woman,  com 
pletely  off  your  guard.  Humiliating! 

(A  tiny  pause.     He  is  thinking  back.) 

GEN.  That  Litova  story  was  well  done.  Not 
too  much.  Just  convincing.  You're  a  clever 
woman. 

MEL.      I'm  a  sure  one.     I  don't  make  mistakes. 

GEN.  (looking  her  over).  No,  I  don't  think  you 
do.  (A  silence.)  Well,  why  wait? 

MEL.      Because — I'm — curious. 

GEN.  (zcith  a  queer  ironic  inflection).     Curious! 

MEL.  I  meant  to  do  it  the  moment  you  opened 
the  door,  but  your  revolver  was  covering  me.  Then, 
I  wanted  to  see  what  you  were  like ;  you,  the  man 
that  has  been  the  instrument  in  sending  more  of  our 
people,  more  of  the  Brotherhoods,  to  terrible  deaths, 
than  any  other  'man  in  Russia.  I  wanted  to  sec 
your  soul,  before  I  send  you  out,  in  the  dark. 
Lower  your  hands,  quite  slowly,  till  they  rest  on 
the  table.  No  quick  movement,  or  I'll  fire.  (He 
does  so.)  Now,  sit.  (He  complies,  facing  front.) 

GEN.  (with  bitter  disdain).  A  woman!  To  be 
killed  by  a  woman. 

MEL.  That  needn't  sting.  I've  faced  death  my 
self,  in  the  effort  to  shame  our  men  into  fighting. 
I  fought  in  the  Battalion  of  Death.  My  name  is 
possibly  known  to  you.  I'll  tell  it  you,  for  you'll 
have  no  opportunity  to  repeat  it.  You  have  heard 
of — Irma  Korevna?  (The  GENERAL  raises  his  head 
a  little.')  If  you  move,  I'll  stop  this  talk  with  a 
bullet. 

[60] 


THE  WASP 

GEN.  Irma  Korevna.  Yes,  we  know  you.  We 
have  records  of  you,  of  all  the  worth-while  ones, 
from  your  births,  to  your  various — finishes.  Your 
case  interested  me. 

MEL.     For  what  reason? 

(He  looks  away  from  her.) 

GEN.  Looking  up  your  antecedents,  I  couldn't 
discover  where  you  got  your  socialistic  strain.  The 
Anarchist  usually  springs  from  the  criminal  or  op 
pressed  class.  You  came  from  neither. 

MEL.  I  am  a  product  of  your  own  construction, 
mon  General.  Such  men  as  you  breed  such  as  I, 
for  your  own  undoing. 

(He  turns  his  head,  and  looks  at  her  keenly.) 

GEN.  (as  if  quoting  from  a  record).  "  Irma 
Korevna,  notorious  Socialist  speaker,  and  propa 
gandist."  I  ought  to  have  recognized  you,  from 
your  photograph  in  the  Official  Records. 

MEL.  As  I  recognized  yours,  from  the  popular 
journals.  (As  if  quoting.)  "  General  Peter  Gret- 
cheff,  at  the  head  of  his  troops."  "  General  Gret- 
cheff,  in  full  Court  livery."  "  General  Gretcheff, 
at  dinner  with  Grand  Dukes  and  Foreign  Princes." 
And  now — an  ordinary  man,  in  slovenly  garb,  and 
slippers,  with  drawn  face,  and  slouching  shoulders. 
(He  makes  an  effort  to  straighten  himself.)  Don't 
stir!  Completely  at  my  mercy,  to  question  and 
analyze,  as  I  choose. 

GEN.  (quickly).  Oh,  no,  you're  wrong  there, 
[61] 


Mademoiselle.  (Smiles.)  I  can  compel  you  to  kill 
me  at  any  moment. 

MEL.     By  what  means? 

GEN.  By  making  an  effort  to  reach  the  revolver 
which  is  in  my  right-hand  pocket. 

MEL.     You  won't  do  it. 

GEN.  Not  yet.  I  want  to  ask  a  question  or  two, 
first.  I  injudiciously  told  you  my  lieutenant  had 
gone  to  Litzk.  You've  got  it  all  your  own  way. 
Give  me  a  few  minutes.  I  can't  escape.  How  long 
will  you  give  me? 

(The  sleigh  bells  jingle  outside.  She  raises  her 
head  till  the  face  of  the  clock  comes  within  her 
line  of  sight,  but  without  removing  her  eyes 
from  the  GENERAL.) 

MEL.  That  clock  behind  you  wants  seventeen 
minutes  of  the  hour. — Till  the  hour. 

GEN.  Death  grinning  over  my  shoulder  from  the 
clock-face.  Seventeen  minutes  to  suffer ! 

MEL.  You  kept  Nikola  Petroff,  head  of  our 
Odessa  brotherhood,  in  prison  for  ten  months,  hop 
ing  a  reprieve;  then,  you  shot  him.  Seventeen  min 
utes  against  ten  months  of  suffering! 

GEN.  Petroff  would  have  got  his  liberty,  if  he 
hadn't  clubbed  and  killed  his  jailer,  an  inoffensive 
fellow,  who  was  bringing  him  food  at  the  moment. 

MEL.  Wouldn't  you  do  likewise — for  the  chance 
of  life? 

GEN.  No.  If,  now,  you  relaxed  your  guard, 
and  gave  me  an  opening,  I  couldn't  kill  you,  as  you 
propose  to  murder  me. 

MEL.  (steadily).  Your  removal  for  the  regencra- 
[62] 


THE  WASP 

tion  of  our  country  is  not  murder.  Tell  me,  aren't 
you  almost  glad?  Isn't  there  a  sense  of — a  kind  of 
—relief — that  the  long  suspense  you  must  have  lived 
in  is  certainty  at  last? 

GEN.  I  don't  know.  It's  hard  to  analyze. 
There  is  a  curious  sense  of  something  like — rest. 
It  has  been  terrible ! 

MEL.  (in  almost  a  zvhisper  of  tense  curiosity). 
Tell  me,  what  has  it  been  like? 

GEN.  One  of  those  nightmares,  when  you  try  to 
cry  out,  and  can't  make  a  sound.  Nothing  comes. 
You  agonize,  and  can't  wake.  It  wasn't  that  way 
at  first.  I  used  to  laugh  when  the  threatening  let 
ters  came,  but  the  insistency  gradually  told.  I 
began  to  look  at  the  people  about  me  suspiciously, 
and  wonder — "  which?  "  (He  breaks  off.)  My 
center  of  vision  began  to  alter.  When  I  entered  a 
room  I  found  myself  speculating  what  might  be  be 
hind  a  door,  a  heavy  curtain.  I  would  forget  what 
I  was  speaking  about  and  —  (He  breaks  off 

again.)  I  knew  the  thing  was  taking  hold  of  me. 
I  could  throw  it  off  for  days,  then — but  it  always 
came  back,  and  alwa37s  a  little  worse — more  in 
sistent.  I  began  to  suspect  everybody,  even  friends. 
The  actual  things  that  happened  didn't  matter 
much.  Oh,  I've  been  dogged  from  one  end  of  Russia 
to  the  other.  You  know  that! 

MEL.  (nodding,  absorbed).  We  haven't  left  you 
much  peace! 

GEN.  Shadowed  in  Odessa,  Rostov,  Moscow, 
every  place.  Once,  my  life  was  attempted  in  broad 
daylight,  in  my  auto,  on  the  Nevsky  Prospect,  and 
the  mascot  I  spoke  of,  in  a  metal  case,  stopped  the 


THE  WASP 

bullet.  Those  weren't  the  things  that  told  on  me. 
It  was — the  possibilities. 

MEL.      For  instance? 

GEN.  Well — for  instance,  one  night,  I  was  at 
the  Grand  Duke  Paul's,  at  dinner,  and  there  was  a 
servant  waiting — a  fellow  with  dark,  cavernous  eyes 
that  seemed  to  follow  me  wherever  he  went.  That 
dinner  was  ghastly!  I  had  to  laugh  and  crack 
jokes,  and  whenever  he  approached  behind  with  a 
dish  or  a  bottle,  I  could  feel  a  creeping  between  my 
shoulders,  a  sensation  as  if  the  point  of  a  knife  were 
just  scraping  my  flesh  and  might  be  driven  in  at 
any  second.  The  fellow  was  nobody.  That  was 
one  of  many  cases.  I  used  to  picture  how  the  assas 
sin  would  look — who  got  me  at  last!  Haven't  you 
ever  wondered  what  it  would  look  like? 

MEL.     What? 

GEN.  The  ugly  face  of  Murder.  Something 
suddenly  stalks  up  to  you,  and  stops  your  heart 
beating  in  the  poor  wretched  little  body  you've 
washed  and  dressed  up  and  fed,  and  been  careful  of, 
so  long,  and  says,  "Here — you!  I'm  going  to 
squelch  you  out !  Here — you — end !  "  I've  pic 
tured  it  often — but  it  was  never  like  this.  (Sud 
denly.)  What  made  them  choose  you? 

MEL.  There  was  no  choice.  It  was  the  drawing 
of  a  number. 

GEN.     No  appeal? 

MEL.     None. 

GEN.  Strange!  If  we,  the  governing  class,  did 
a  thing  like  that  what  a  howl  of  "  tyranny  "  would 
be  raised.  {He  makes  a  slight  movement  with  hi* 
right  hand;  she  is  on  the  alert,  instantly.)  No,  I 

[64] 


THE  WASP 

wasn't  trying  to  spring  anything.  I  want  a  last 
smoke.  The  cigarettes  and  matches  are  just  by 
your  left  hand.  May  I? 

(She  pushes  them  towards  7iim,  without  taking 
her  eyes  off  him.  He  takes  ,them  quietly,  and 
lifts  them  to  his  face,  his  eyes  on  hers.  Same 
business.) 

MEL.  Don't  deceive  yourself,  General.  I  shall 
not  fail  those  who  sent  me. 

GEN.  That  name  "Melipoff."  Why  did  you 
call  yourself  by  it? 

MEL.     It  was  my  mother's  name. 

GEN.  You  knew  the  woman  I  spoke  of,  the  cele 
brated  violinist — Irma  Melipoff,  was  your  mother? 

MEL.  I  knew  Irma  Melipoff  brought  me  into  the 
world.  The  peasants  who  were  paid  to  drag  me  up 
to  girlhood  told  me  that  much. 

GEN.  The  daughter  of  that  genius,  a  murderer ! 
The  skunks ! 

MEL.  That's  not  our  view!  The  greater  the 
horror,  the  personal  danger,  the  greater  the 
grandeur  of  the  service. 

GEN.  And  you  conceive  it  a  grandeur  to  shoot 
like  a  dog,  without  a  chance  to  defend  himself,  a 
man  in  the  uniform  of  his  country,  an  old  soldier, 
into  whose  room  you  sneak  under  shelter  of  a  lie? 

MEL.  Nothing  matters,  so  that  we  rid  our  coun 
try  of  plague  spots,  oppressors,  and  traitors  to  the 
people  and  the  common  good,  such  as  General  Gret- 
cheff,  and  all  men  like  him. 

GEN.  Ah,  you  have  got  all  the  street-corner 
patter — "  Enemies  of  our  country,"  "  tyrants," 


THE  WASP 

"  oppressors,"  all  the  soap-box  blather !  Why  do 
you  apply  those  terms  to  me? 

MEL.     Obvious  reasons  like  that? 

GEN.  State  them,  state  them!  I  want  to  nail 
you. 

MEL.  Bleeding,  ghastly  Russia!  There's  your 
answer. 

GEN.  Granted.  It's  a  horrible  picture.  So  is 
a  drunkard,  twisting  and  raving  in  an  attack  of 
delirium  tremens.  Yet,  you  hardly  blame  the 
medical  men  who  are  trying  their  remedies ! 

MEL.     You've  been  trying  them  for  centuries. 

GEN.  And  for  centuries,  Russia  has  been  suffer 
ing  under  vodka,  bestiality,  and  slavery.  To-day  is 
the  inevitable  outcome. 

MEL.  (quickly).     You  admit  slavery? 

GEN.  Certainly,  I  admit  slavery.  I  didn't  say 
we,  the  ruling  class,  are  blameless.  But  don't  sad 
dle  us  with  all  Russia's  tragedy.  It's  not  fair — 
and  not  the  truth. 

MEL.  We  looked  to  you  for  a  remedy  and  you 
gave  us — a  volley  of  shrapnel. 

GEN.  What  is  the  remedy  for  Russia?  The 
Bolshevists'  remedy?  I've  never  heard  them  pro 
pose  one.  Destruction's  no  answer !  That's  a  clear 
ing  out  of  the  Social  System — a  preparation. 
What  is  the  remedy? 

MEL.     Liberty  and  Education. 

GEN.  Bombastic  phrases.  Tell  us  how  to  apply 
them.  The  moujik,  and  the  steppe-dweller  have  not 
begun  to  think.  You're  offering  the  nectar  of  the 
Gods  to  clowns  who  prefer  bad  beer!  Nectar's 
heady  stuff.  Look  at  your  Litova  friends,  to  whom 
[66] 


THE  WASP 

"  liberty  "  means  license  to  murder  and  rape.  (He 
is  about  to  lift  his  fist  to  strike  the  table;  she  ad 
vances  her  revolver  ever  so  slightly.)  Qtfcr,  I'm  not 
likely  to  forget!  How  much  time  have  I  used  up? 

MEL.     Eleven  minutes. 

GEN.  Let  me  tell  you  one  thing.  It's  a  queer 
time  to  do  it — with  a  revolver  pointed  at  my  stom 
ach,  but  it's  the  only  moment  I've  got.  What  has 
happened  now  (With  a  movement  of  his  head  to 
wards  the  picture.)  is  the  signal.  There's  no  more 
safety  for  anyone.  I'm  shot  down  to-day.  You're 
just  as  likely  to  be  shot  to-morrow,  by  your  friends. 
All  this  has  blazed  out  before.  It  gets  a  country 
nowhere.  It's  no  good !  We,  the  hated  ruling  pow 
ers,  have  kept  it  under. 

MEL.     Your  methods  are  corrupt  and  foul. 

GEN.  Someone  has  got  to  have  the  upper  hand ! 
Better  trust  it  to  the  class  with  brains.  You're  not 
dealing  with  a  people  like  free  America,  or  France, 
or  England,  all  willing  to  submit  to  laws  and  rules 
for  the  common  welfare.  "  Liberty,"  as  yet — to 
our  people — means  satisfaction  of  individual  lusts 
and  follies,  regardless  of  our  rights.  We  have  some 
rights,  though  you  people  won't  admit  us  any. 
You'll  see  what  will  happen,  now  you've  unchained 
the  Beast,  and  all  that  brute  force  and  primal 
energy  is  unmuzzled — loose  on  the  world! 

MEL.  (in  a  far-away  voice).  Yet,  in  the  Dawn 
of  Things,  there  was  nothing  but  that — and  a 
reaching  out  for  God! 

GEN.  In  the  "  Dawn  of  Things "  there  were 
only  a  few  of  us !  There  were  vast  empty  spaces, 
where  huge  struggles  could  take  place  and  hurt 

[67] 


THE  WASP 

nobody.  Now  the  world's  too  full.  We're  crammed 
and  crowded.  Maggots  in  cheese.  Begin  to  strug 
gle,  and  the  maggots  get  smashed.  Let  me  say  one 
thing  more. 

MEL.     Four  minutes  are  left,  General. 

GEN.  Well — repeat  this  to  your  Anarchist 
friends.  You,  and  your  lot,  think  of  us  governing 
fellows  as  a  pompous  set  of  asses,  sitting  with  our 
hands  on  our  fat  stomachs,  congratulating  our 
selves  on  the  way  we  are  running  things.  You're 
absolutely  wrong!  Behind  walls,  we're  looking 
blankly  in  each  other's  faces,  asking  for  a  solution, 
for  fire  from  heaven  to  light  on  some  one  of  us,  and 
show  the  way.  But  don't  expect  us  to  come  out  in 
the  open  and  tell  you  so !  We've  got  a  fat  job.  We 
want  to  keep  it.  We  mean  to  keep  it.  But  you 
people  who  are  battering  the  doors  in.  You've  got 
your  chance.  We'll  listen  to  you,  we'll  invite  you 
in,  if  you'll  stop  the  demagogue  jargon,  and  come 
to  business.  You  can't.  No — you  can't!  Take 
away  your  bombs,  and  your  knives,  and  your  se 
cret  assassins,  and  you're  done,  you're  worse  than 
we  are!  Kill  us  off!  Jump  into  our  shoes,  see  what 
you  are  up  against!  Try  it!  Try  it  for  three 
months!  You'll  be  knocking  at  our  tombstones, 
howling  above  the  bloody  graves  where  you've 
thrust  us,  begging  us  to  come  to  life  and  relieve  you 
of  the  problem  of  which  you've  made  even  a  bigger 
mess  than  we,  the  accursed  Imperial  Government, 
ever  did.  Try  it!  Try  it!  It's  the  worst  I  can 
wish  for  you! 

(There  is  a  jangle  of  sleigh  bells.) 
[68] 


THE  WASP 

MEL.  General  Gretcheff,  in  three  minutes  I 
must  obey  my  orders.  Have  you  any  wishes,  any 
commission?  I  will  transmit  it. 

GEN.  (he  looks  away).  Wish?  Commission? 
To  whom?  There's  no  one  to  whom  it  matters.  I 
haven't  a  relative  in  the  world!  If  I  had  succeeded 
in  dying  in  bed — there  would  probably  have  been 
not  one  person  near  me  who  cared.  I  spoke  a  while 
ago  of  something  I  carried  which  I  believe  has  been 
a  mascot  to  me.  I  believe  so  still.  For  if  it  has 
failed  this  time,  it  is  because  you  have  come  between 
me  and  it — and  deflected  its  influence. 

MEL,.  I  don't  understand.  Why  should  I  do 
that? 

GEN.  Because — it  has  a — connection  with  you. 
When  you  told  me  who  you  were,  you  told  me  some 
thing  which  I  already  knew — in  part.  This  talis 
man,  this  mascot  which  I  have  carried ;  there  is  a 
psychological  connection  between  you,  and  it,  a 
strong  one. 

MEL.  (without  feeling).  What  has  it  to  do  with 
me? 

GEN.  I  believe — much.  It  is  a  miniature  of  a 
brilliant  woman,  a  great  artist,  my  dear,  whom  I 
once  knew,  and — loved.  Her  name  was  Melipoff, 
Catherine  Anna  Melipoff,  at  one  time  Court  violin 
ist  to  his  Imperial  Majesty,  the  Czar.  I  feel  a 
queer  repugnance,  a  delicacy,  a  reluctance,  Made 
moiselle,  in  continuing — as  if  I  were  taking  a  mean 
advantage,  because — to  do  so  is  to  use  the  subtlest 
weapon,  the  unfairest — the  most  powerful,  perhaps 
the  only  one  I  could  use,  to  deflect  you  from  your 
present  purpose. 

[69] 


THE  WASP 

MEL.  There  is  no  such  weapon.  Why  do  you 
indulge  the  hope? 

(A  pause.     They  look  in  each  other's  eyes.     He 
bends  forward  slightly.) 

GEN.  Because,  Mademoiselle,  even  in  the  hard 
est,  the  most  stoical  of  us,  there  is  a — what  shall  I 
say?  An  instinct,  a  primal,  prejudicial  instinct 
against — taking  the  life — of  that  which  gave  us 
life!  (They  look  into  each  other's  eyes.) 

MEL.      Speak — out. 

GEN.  I  have  long  known — that  the  souvenir — 
the  only  living  memento  of  the  love  of  the  great 
artist,  Catherine  Anna  Melipoff,  and  myself,  was 
the  child  she  bore  me,  the  child  that  was  put  away 
unrecognized,  the  woman  known,  by  the  irony  of 
God,  to  the  police  and  Government  authorities,  as 
the  Anarchist  and  revolutionary — Irma  Korevna. 

(A  dead  silence.) 

MEL.  (breaking  the  silence).  That —  makes — no 
— difference. 

GEN.     What ! 

MEL.  Your  "  primal,  prejudicial  instinct  "  is 
dead  in  me.  Dead  before  it  was  ever  born.  There 
is  nothing  to  call  to.  It  never  lived.  I  say,  it  makes 
— no — difference.  You  have  had  no  part  in  the 
making  of  my  soul. 

GEN.     Good— God ! 

MEL.  You  have  failed,  General  Gretcheff.  If 
you  hoped  by  revealing,  that  in  insolence  of  power 
you  wronged  a  woman  who  at  least  was  my  m  — 

[70] 


THE  WASP 

GEN.  (quietly  interrupting).  One  does  not  in 
solently  wrong,  or  lightly  remember,  Mademoiselle, 
one  whose  picture  has  been  carried  through  what 
ever  dangers  life  has  held  for  me,  and  (does  this 
sound  childish  to  one  so  strong  as  you?)  whose  pic 
ture  I  have  believed  a  charm,  to  preserve  my  poor 
life,  for,  till  this  moment,  it  has  never  failed. 
Would  you  like  to  see  that  picture? 

(The  kitchen  door  slowly  swings  open,  as  it  did 
before,  and  gradually,  a  shadow  falls  on  the 
•floor  from  the  open  door,  lengthening  by  de 
grees.) 

MEL.  (ignoring  his  question).  The  minute  hand 
is  almost  on  the  hour. 

GEX.  Would — you — like  to  see  that  picture? 
Your  mother's  picture,  Mademoiselle. 

MEL.     I  shall  see  it — soon. 

GEN.  I  am  glad  I  have  no  coward  for  my  child, 
if,  as  I  believe,  you  are  my  child.  I'll  tell  you 
where  to  find  it — when  you — search. 

(Soundlessly,  at  the  open  door  of  fhe  kitchen, 
the  figure  of  LIEUTENANT  SERGEITCH  appears. 
He  stands  motionless,  trying  to  take  in  the 
situation.  GENERAL  GRETCHEFF  gives  no 
least  sign  or  movement  to  betray  that  he  has 
seen  him;  only,  certain  words,  as  he  uses  them, 
are  punctuated,  as  if  spoken  in  italics,  so  that 
LIEUTENANT  SERGEITCH,  who  cannot,  by  rea 
son  of  his  position,  see  the  revolver  menacing 
the  GENERAL,  may  be  informed  of  the  deadly 
peril  he  is  in.) 


THE  WASP 

MEL.  (in  a  tense  whisper).  General,  it  must  be 
now. 

GEN.  Wait,  wait,  a  second!  If  YOU  kill  me, 
without  listening,  as  you  intend  to  do — with — that- 
loaded — revolver — you — are  —  pointing — at — me — 
(LIEUTENANT  SERGEITCH  starts,  horrorstruck,  then 
nerves  himself,  and  begins  noiselessly,  and  with  infi 
nite  caution,  covering  the  space  between  himself  and 
the  unaware  woman;  not  daring  to  hurry,  for  fear 
the  least  sound  may  cause  her  to  fire.)  without 
listening  to  me,  you'll  have  to  grope  for  it !  That 
won't  be — pleasant, — will  it !  I  want  to  save  you 
that! 

(SERGEITCH  is  working  his  way  across.) 

MEL.     Hurry! 

GEN.  I'll  tell  you  where  to  find  it.  Don't,  don't 
fire  till  I've  finished — speaking.  (He  is  trying  to 
space  out  his  words,  to  delay  the  shot,  and  the  audi 
ence  must  feel  he  is  doing  so.)  In  the  left  side  of 
the — vest  I  wear — on  the  inner  side — there  is  a 
pocket — on  the  inner  side,  remember!  In  a  metal 
case,  that  is  dented  with  a  bullet — between  some 
letters — you  will  find — the  miniature — I  speak  of 
—it  is—  (As  he  reaches  this  word,  SERGEITCH, 

who  has  arrived  close  behind  the  woman,  with  one 
sure,  swift  movement,  knocks  the  revolver  sideways, 
and  pinions  her.  She  utters  a  stifled  cry,  struggles 
an  instant,  then  realizes  it  is  all  over.  The  GEN-  '• 
ERAL  rises.  Then  he  continues  his  sentence.)  — it 
is — as  I  told  you,  a  mascot,  Mademoiselle.  For  it 
has,  again,  saved  my  life,  and  you — from  a  crime 
that  is  worse  than  murder ! 


THE  WASP 

SERG.  Thank  God,  your  Excellency !  (There  is 
a  sound  of  horses'  hoofs,  and  a  confused  noise  out 
side.)  That  i«  Sergeant  Nicolai  and  some  of  our 
men.  They  were  searching  for  us.  I  rode  on 
ahead,  and  the  new  tracks  in  the  snow  made  me  sus 
pect  this 

(He  slightly  twists  the  woman's  arm.     She  utters 
aery  of  pain.) 

/VkA-  ^lt<  -•  -^*-  ! 

GEN.  No  roughness,  Lieutenant!  That  we  do 
not  all  think  alike — is  no  reason  for  forgetting  we 
are  two  soldiers  against  a,  now,  harmless  woman. 
(The  GENERAL  motions  him  off  c.)  You  will  con 
duct  this  lady,  in  her  droshky,  as  far  as  Litzk. 
After  that — (Dryly.)  she  is  perfectly  able  to  take 
care  of  herself.  (LIEUT.  SERGEITCH  goes  out  door 
c.  R.  which  he  leaves  open,  and  unbarring  outer  door 
beyond,  exits,  closing  it  alter  him.)  Mademoiselle, 
we  shall  probably  neither  of  us  forget  this  inter 
view,  nor  are  we  likely  (Grimly.)  ever  to  have  an 
other.  But  I  warn  you,  if  ever  I  catch  you  at 
your  "  activities,"  the  fact  we  both  know  of  will 
weigh  as  little  with  me  as  it  did  with  you. 

MEL.  I  shall  not  forget,  General  Gretcheff,  nor 
shall  I  change.  You  are  still  an  enemy  of  your 
country. 

GEN.  Neither  you  nor  I  are  any  such  thing. 
We  are  little  children  lost  in  a  forest,  waiting  for 
daylight  to  show  us  the  paths.  They  are  there. 
Perhaps  the  Dawn  may  reveal  them;  but  you  have 
not  found  them  yet,  neither  have  we.  (  LIEUT. 
SERGEITCH  opens  the  outer  door  and  salutes.  He 

[73] 

r      '      v  I —V"  //  ~-  k-  - '       \t 

4^  .L<r<«>s  \      "lUe. 


THE  WASP 

stands  by  the  door  in  readiness,  his  fur  cap  and  coat 
on;  there  is  a  jingle  of  sleigh  bells.)  The  droshky 
waits  you,  Mademoiselle. 

(He  points  to  her  coat  and  furs,  and  SERGEITCH 
picks  them  up,  and  stands  waiting  for  her. 
She  looks  at  the  GENERAL,  a  moment,  then  bows 
her  head  and  goes  out  in  silence.  The  door 
closes  upon  her.  The  GENERAL,  stands,  his 
hands  behind  his  back.  His  head  turns  in  the 
direction  of  the  picture  with  its  face  to  the 
wall.  He  shivers  slightly.  The  bells  of  the 
sleigh,  as  it  starts,  jangle  sharply.  He  listens. 
Then,  nods  his  head,  and  walks  over  to  the 
table  where  the  little  volume  he  was  reading 
when  his  visitor  arrived  is  still  lying.  He  picks 
it  up  and  tries  to  read.  The  bells  are  heard, 
getting  further  away.  He  raises  his  head — 
and  listens  to  them  receding  in  the  distance. 
His  eyes  seek  his  book  again.  The  bells  are 
now  far  away.) 


CURTAIN 


[74] 


Be  An  Optimist 

By  Adam  Applebud 

The  Quintessence  of  Nonsense  in  Three  Acts.  6m.;  7w..  all 
equally  important,  with  the  opportunity,  if  desired,  to  use  several 
"supers"  with  no  lines.  2  simple  interiors.  Adam  Applebud 
certainly  blossomed  forth  with  as  many  original  situations  and  bits 
of  business  as  a  centipede  has  pedal  extremities  when  he  wrote 
"Be  An  Optimist."  Funnier  things  happen  than  you  ever  dreamed 
of  after  a  midnight  encounter  with  a  welsh-rarebit.  For  instance, 
can  you  imagine  manufacturing  a  mummy  with  a  love-sick  swain, 
surgical  bandages  and  a  pail  of  coffee  as  the  chief  ingredients?  Also, 
why  are  shot-guns  and  baseball  bats  vital  to  the  antique  business 
to  say  nothing  of  sledge-hammers  and  tooth-brushes?  And  why 
should  Madame  Goopher,  the  trance  medium,  faint  when  she 
suddenly  discovers  she  isn't  a  liar  after  all?  Would  you  stand 
within  three  feet  of  your  best  pal  and  listen  to  him  make  love  to 
your  girl  and  hear  her  ask  him  for  a  kiss?  Our  hero  does,  and  he  is 
helpless  under  the  prevailing  circumstances.  The  property  man 
won't  be  worried  as  the  "props"  most  important  to  the  play  are 
found  in  every  home.  The  characters  are  more  assorted  than  the 
component  parts  of  boarding-house  hash,  and  they  will  keep  the 
laugh  center  in  your  medulla  working  livelier  than  a  cash  register 
in  a  bargain  basement.  Warning!  If  you  yearn  for  "Culchaw"  or 
have  a  burning  desire  to  aid  in  the  uplift  of  the  "drahma,"  don't 
open  a  copy  of  "Be  An  Optimist";  but  if  you  want  the  rafters  of 
the  old  town  hall  to  ring  with  laughter,  hop  to  it! 

THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  PLAY  AS  YOU  MEET  THEM 

Isaac  Golditch,  antiquer,  of  the  Golditch  Art  Shop. 
Becky,  his  daughter. 

Pietro  D'Angelo  Caccialino,  expert  worm-holer. 
Jimmie  Maynard,  "the  poor  stiff." 
Mildred  Clinton,  who  is  in  love  and  likes  it. 
Mrs.  Clinton,  "why  mother-in-law  jokes  are  true." 
Mike,  just  what  his  name  suggests. 
Ray  Hudson,  a  friend  in  need,  but  scarcely  in  deed. 
Miss  Hull,  interior  decorator. 

Maggie,  not  green — for  "greenness"  wears  off,  so  call  her  stupid. 
Ethel  Peabody,  who  defies  love  to  affect  her. 
Spencer,  a  paid  guest. 
Madame  Goopher,  dispenser  of  spirits. 
Guests  at  the  Ball. 

They  Are  Seen 

During  Act  I — In  the  Golditch  Art  Shop.  Morning. 

During  Act  II — In  Mrs.  Clinton's  Home.  Afternoon. 

During  Act  III — Still  at  Mrs.  Clinton's.  The  next  evening. 

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irm  L9-50m-4,'61(B899484)444 

"Nothing  better  than  'The  Arrival  oi  Jvitty  nas  ever  ueeu  given 

I'niontown."  M 

"A  splendid  success  from  every  standpoint.  . 

"You  are  certainly  to  be  congratulated  tor  writing  a  play  so  simple, 

so  easy  to  present  and  at  the  same  time  so  delightfully 

clever." 

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